


These Dangerous Games We Play

by TheSeeingStar



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Convoluted background plot, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Sex with added espionage, Taking liberties with spells, possible future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeeingStar/pseuds/TheSeeingStar
Summary: "Are you going to kill me this time?""Archmage Widogast, I'm insulted. You should know well enough by now that when I want to kill you, I’ll send someone else to do my dirty work.""And I’d be expecting that, as you well know, Shadowhand, making this the perfect time to strike.""And thus continues our perpetual game of reverse psychology. It’s really quite exquisite isn’t it."Caleb allows his lips to quirk in the slightest of smiles, because Essek's right, it really is.*******My take on Liam's own idea during an episode of Talks Machina, in which Caleb becomes a Cerberus Assembly Archmage and has an interesting working relationship/rivalry with his Dynesty counterpart.
Relationships: Background Astrid/Caleb, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 9
Kudos: 167





	These Dangerous Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> Written because the plot bunnies just would not budge. And now I can get back to updating my very much neglected multi chapter fic! 
> 
> My first attempt at m/m so apologies if it’s awful!

"Master Widogast, your next appointment is here, shall I show him in?"

Caleb glances up from the report he’s been reading for the last hour detailing an uprising in the mobile Dynasty stronghold of Urzin. “Yes, thank you Tomass." He says distractedly, and the aged little halfling man ducks back through the door with a respectful nod of his head. Caleb doesn’t see, he’s back reading again before the man has closed the door. It’s dull stuff but he likes to be on top of oddities like this rather than hand them out to his small army of intelligence officers. And it is odd.

A town situated on the backs of giant tortoises is pretty unusual in itself, but that isn’t what’s strange about this. Urzin is a strategic nightmare for the Empire, constantly moving around the largely inaccessible Brokenveil Marsh, a perfect military outpost the movements of which are impossible to properly scout or predict. The last agent he sent to infiltrate the largely goblinkin population ended up strung up from a tree, both hands removed and tongue cut out so he couldn’t cast spells, and left to die. But that isn’t what’s worrying Caleb.

A simple uprising might be the sort of thing someone else would brush off as unimportant, but not him. As far as his agents can tell, Sunbreaker Olomon is still in charge, a capable and strong leader with the unwavering loyalty of his charges, there’s just no good reason for unrest. The only credible explanation for it that Caleb can see is that Xhorhas is using the uprising as a cover to secretly bolster the forces there ready to attack the Empire’s mountain garrisons. It’s a serious threat to the peace he and the Nein worked for all those years ago, and it’s baffling. The peace might be tenuous, but it’s held nonetheless. An attack like this, seemingly out of the blue, makes no sense.

“Why now..?” He mutters to himself, pouring over the details of the report for anything he might have missed.

"Talking to yourself is a bad sign you know." A familiarly dry voice says from the doorway. Caleb manages not to jump, but curses himself for his lack of attention that allowed the tall elven man to enter without him noticing. "You look busy. Anything I can help with?"

Caleb snaps the file shut and stands, pushing it to one side. "Your disguises are getting more daring Shadowhand. You must be bored."

The elf morphs before his eyes, the air around him shimmering for a few seconds as long obnoxiously bright red hair fades to short cropped white, pale pink skin takes on a grey-purple hue, and his height reduces a good two feet. He’s hovering of course, the trick hidden by the disguise now proudly on display. His clothes change too, from garish green and gold robes to the ornate silver mantel and dark cloak the drow often wears.

"Just testing your staff. They’re not very good are they?"

Caleb ignores the dig, it’s just part of their dance trying to throw each other off. “I didn’t ask you here to discuss my staff Essek.”

“Of course not Caleb.” Essek moves over to the desk in front of him, perching on the edge of the enormous dark stained top and letting his hover drop. “I imagine I’m here to discuss a matter of great import to our respective nations?”

Caleb inhales deeply, regarding his old friend before crossing the three steps between them, fingers coming to rest on the fine silver clasp of Essek’s mantle. "Are you going to kill me this time?" He muses, flicking open the catch and removing the mantle and cloak in one, laying them carefully over his desk chair.

"Archmage Widogast, I'm insulted. You should know well enough by now that when I want to kill you, I’ll send someone else to do my dirty work."

"And I’d be expecting that, as you well know, Shadowhand, making this the perfect time to strike."

"And thus continues our perpetual game of reverse psychology. It’s really quite exquisite isn’t it."

Caleb allows his lips to quirk in the slightest of smiles, because Essek's right, it really is.

They undress each other with slow precision, keeping errant touches to the barest minimum in silent contest to see who’ll break first. It varies from meeting to meeting, and this time it’s Caleb. He lasts right up until Essek scrapes a well manicured finger nail over his nipple while helping to remove his shirt, the drow's face a mask of innocence, but the flash of amusement in his lavender eyes gives him away. Caleb presses close and nips his bare shoulder hard, Essek's hiss at the sudden contact evolving into a triumphant groan as Caleb's tongue rolls over the darkening teeth marks.

They never kiss. That’s far too intimate, and this isn’t about that. This is about power and kinship, attraction and danger. It’s a thrill they can’t find anywhere else. It’s not an affair. That would be too safe, too boring. An affair would mean feelings, and feelings inevitably would compromise them, cloud their judgement. Besides, Caleb likes not knowing whether each thrust could be his last.

"Urzin. The uprising is a cover, isn’t it?" Caleb casually drops into conversation before taking one of Essek's nipples into his mouth and sucking, hard.

"Whatever would lead you to believe that?" The drow keeps his composure, voice as steady as ever, but glancing up Caleb sees the tightening at the corners of his eyes giving away his arousal.

"The people there have followed Sunbreaker Olomon for years. Even if he’s been displaced by another challenger, the process of appointing a new leader is clear. Beat the current leader in combat, and you’re in charge." Caleb punctuates that with a roll of his hips against Essek’s, looking the man straight in the eye with a smirk. Essek let’s out a little sigh and works his hands between them to open Caleb's belt. "They’re simple people, it just doesn’t fit that they would suddenly move against a leader they regard as the strongest. So, Shadowhand," he grunts softly as Essek slips a hand inside his trousers, long nimble fingers wrapping around his cock. "Why is Xhorhas making ready to attack us?"

Essek regards him for a moment, hand agonisingly still and eyes considering. Caleb knows he’s weighing up how much to reveal. The drow's hand finally begins a slow, torturous rhythm up and down his shaft, the pad of his thumb pressing just slightly harder along the vein on the underside, applying the perfect pressure to make Caleb fully hard in seconds. "That you need to ask that question is... concerning. Our course of action is a response to your own. Or so I believed."

Caleb frowns, before his eyes involuntarily flutter closed for a few seconds as Essek tightens his grip and speeds up his motions. "What is it you... think we have done to threaten the Dynasty?" He gasps. It’s not his most eloquent sentence ever he realises, but with what’s going on in his pants, he can forgive himself.

"It’s been noticed that there has been a marked increase in activity in the Grimgolir Mines." Essek's breath hitches as Caleb brushes a hand over the drow's crotch and sets his slightly unsteady hands to tugging down the man's trousers. "As a main supplier of raw materials to your weapons manufacturing facilities in Hupperdook, it’s a reasonable conclusion to suspect you might be stepping up production of weaponry."

Essek's cock, already painfully hard by the looks of things, springs free of the dark material, bobbing tantalisingly in the air between them. Caleb has often wanted to take that cock into his mouth during these encounters, to feel it’s weight between his lips, to take it in as deep as he can, to have Essek moaning and jerking his release onto his tongue. Alas, as tempting as the prospect is, that constant undercurrent of danger between the two of them makes it impossible. Caleb bites his lip, noticing a bead of precum just emerging from the slit, teasing him.

"It is a reasonable conclusion to draw," he says, clearing his throat as his voice sounds suddenly hoarse, "but surely your agents in Hupperdook have reported no relevant change in activity there?"

Essek makes a vexed sound, looking at Caleb accusingly. "I had only the one agent stationed there, and she might have reported that, but she disappeared recently in suspicious circumstances. Not that you would know anything about that of course."

"Always a shame to lose an asset. My condolences." Caleb says with obvious false sympathy. Of course he knew. He’d assigned Eodwulf to take her out himself. "Important tactical settlements are always best covered by multiple agents I’ve found. Accidents happen after all."

"Don’t they just." Essek says dryly.

"Well, I can assure you," Caleb says with a smile, reaching down to swipe the tip of his index finger over Essek's slit to gather the precum there, making the drow start, "that is not the case anyway. Hupperdook has not stepped up production." He brings his finger to his lips, looking Essek dead in the eye as he sucks.

"Oh?" Essek shivers involuntarily and withdraws his hand from Caleb’s pants, waving his fingers lazily and taking a small pink vial seemingly from thin air. "Then what is your explanation for the goings on in Grimgolir?"

"I... do not have one." Caleb admits somewhat sheepishly.

Essek pauses in squeezing a dribble of the pink liquid from the vial onto his fingers, eyebrow raised. "Interesting. And reassuring, in a way." The drow offers the vial to Caleb and without a word perches himself further onto the desk, opening his legs wide and pressing slicked fingers to his hole, beginning to work himself open.

"Yes." Caleb agrees, squeezing the lube onto his own fingers liberally and carefully slicking his cock. "But your superiors are unlikely to think that enough reason to stand down whatever attacks they have planned."

"Indeed. They will need more if we are to have a chance at keeping the peace." Essek hisses as one of his fingers penetrates, thrusting in and out a few times before tentatively adding another with a short groan. Caleb watches enthralled, giving his cock a few swift pumps.

"My friends and I worked hard for that peace. I would very much like for it to continue."

Essek takes a couple of minutes to prepare himself, fingers alternating between slow thrusts and rotations, becoming increasingly breathless, his eyes on Caleb all the time. _Untrusting as ever old friend,_ he thinks to himself, smiling. _A wise move._

The drow jerks, moaning shakily when Caleb wraps a hand around his cock with his still slick fingers and starts to stroke, licking his lips deliberately. Essek gives him a look that’s half withering and half heat.

"I’m sure together, we can come up with some way of averting another war." Essek says as he withdraws his fingers. Caleb, hand still on the other man’s cock though not moving for now, moves forward. Taking his own cock in his free hand, he guides the head to rest on the drow's puckered hole, the skin around it glistening with a generous coating of lube.

"Between us," he says pressing gently forward, watching intently as the dark pink head of his cock slowly breaches Essek, "we must have enough information to piece together what's really going on."

Essek hisses at the intrusion, his arching back altering the angle so that the head slips all the way inside. Caleb stills, letting the drow adjust to the stretch. After a few seconds, Essek’s hips move just a fraction, indicating that he’s ready. Caleb carefully presses forward again, inch by torturous inch, until finally his entire length is buried inside the drow. Both of them are panting by now, sweat beginning to bead on their chests and foreheads.

Always they do this face to face, for the sole reason of lack of trust, and it should hurt his feelings, but Caleb relishes it. He knows Essek feels the same. The constant risk of a knife in the back, or an errant hand weaving somatics the other wouldn’t see coming, it’s exhilarating.

Their lives are constantly in danger of course, assassination attempts from all sides imaginable are commonplace. A few times those have been aimed at each other, when the interests of their nations have required it. It’s not personal, it’s just the job, they both know that. It’s a sort of game between them, or an inside joke. Others would probably fail to see the punchline, Caleb realises, but then others aren’t immersed in this world. Others haven’t seen what they’ve seen, or done what they’ve done.

For the most part though, would be assassins are dealt with in the shadows, like something seen in the corner of the eye but rarely getting close enough to feel that rush of adrenaline Caleb misses from his time with the Nein. Despite the high stakes, the stresses and strains of his position, it’s all so... bureaucratic. So mundane day to day. Is it any wonder he and Essek jump at the chance to feel something when they can?

"Ready?" Caleb asks, his voice gravelly and thick with need. Essek nods in answer, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

He pulls out almost all the way before thrusting back in experimentally. Essek groans deep in his throat, and that’s all the encouragement Caleb needs. He pulls back again, this time thrusting harder, setting up a gradually increasing rhythm.

Maintaining control has always been a strength of both of theirs. The job demands dispassion, acute logic and reasoning are the only way to get things done. So maintaining that control under these circumstances, with Essek’s legs wrapped around his waist as they fuck, is like sport. They never discuss who’s on top, nor do they leave it up to chance either. They simply take it in turns, just another demonstration of how meticulously organised they are.

"Have you..." Essek pants breathlessly, "had any odd reports recently that could," he moans, gritting his teeth, "be of import to our predicament?"

Caleb takes a breath, willing his brain to clear enough to answer strategically. He grips Essek’s hip hard and thrusts deep and quick, his other hand still holding fast on the other man’s straining cock. "Nothing that jumps out. A well known smuggling syndicate in Zadash going to ground, but that could be for any number of reas..." he cuts off in a groan as one of Essek's hands reaches up to tangle in his long hair, pulling just enough to cause delicious pain to prickle in his scalp. "You?"

"Perhaps..." Essek leans back, weight supported on his free elbow, altering the angle of Caleb’s thrusts and making the two of them gasp. "Menagerie Coast... auction houses... more... active." He finishes breathlessly, and Caleb knows the drow won’t last much longer. Feeling pretty close himself, and knowing they have important work to do, he finally starts to move the hand still gripping Essek's cock.

The drow moans desperately at the combined sensations. Caleb has to bite down on his own lip to stop a particularly loud groan as after a few quick strokes, Essek's body tenses. His muscles contract hard around Caleb, the sight of the dark, pulsing cock spilling cum over the drow's abdomen enough to tip him over the edge too. Collapsing onto the desk on his forearms, he rides out his orgasm with stuttering hips, feeling himself release inside the other man.

Breathing heavily, Caleb pushes himself off of Essek to rest against the desk beside him. They stay like that for a minute, the spacious office silent but for the two of them gulping air. Not for the first time, with his heart thumping hard as he slowly gets his breath back, Caleb wonders if he should take up a sport of some sort. As Astrid keeps on telling him, he’s not getting any younger, and being chained to a desk job he’s hardly getting much exercise save what the two of them get up to on nights they’re not both too tired or too busy. And on the odd occasion when Essek comes to visit of course, not that she’d approve of that...

"So," Essek sighs, sitting up. He takes a neatly folded silk kerchief seemingly from the same hole in the air as the lube came from, and begins to clean himself up. "Smugglers going to ground, auction houses gaining momentum... Anything else you can think of that stands out?"

Caleb gives him a sly smirk and a last appraising look before stepping away to retrieve his clothes from the floor. "The auction houses, is it all of them or a select few?" He asks, tutting as he picks up his rumpled shirt from the floor, trying in vain to shake out a few of the more obvious creases.

"It does seem to be a specific few. Vorester Clearwater's, The Golden Gavel, Alespar's Antiquities, and..." With a flourish of his fingers the kerchief vanishes, "The Vaulted Haul. Which if I’m not mistaken, are all..."

"...Known associates of the tribes of Shadycreek Run, yes." Caleb finishes.

Essek nods, raising an eyebrow. "The plot thickens."

"It does." Caleb frowns in thought as he shrugs into his creased shirt. "That does bring to mind something that may be relevant after all. I spoke to Caduceus only a few weeks ago. He said he and his family had buried two tribe heads and a number of higher tribe members in Shadycreek Run recently, and that it was clear that their deaths had been very violent. When I had my agents look into it, they found unrest in the area, even more so than usual."

"That does seem like too much of a coincidence for it not to be involved in this somehow." Essek ponders, pressing a finger to his lips briefly before bending to snatch up his undergarments and trousers, stepping into them with a grace Caleb can only dream of.

"So the tribes are at war, which usually means either there's been a power grab, or they're competing for a business opportunity. A lucrative one too, if they’re serious enough to be taking out tribe leaders." He hands Essek his tunic before attempting to put on his own underclothes while maintaining dignity in front of the other man. He knows it’s ridiculous to worry about that, Essek has seen him come apart enough times, has _made_ him come apart enough times that the pretence of dignity between them shouldn’t be an issue, but for some reason he can’t quite understand, it matters to him.

Essek, of course, is unaware of Caleb’s internal conflict, busy slipping the tunic over his head and arranging it just so. "Given the auction houses and the smugglers, I think we can safely assume this particular scuffle is driven by the latter. But how does it connect to the mines?"

Caleb is silent for a moment, going over the evidence in his head. "Grimgolir is loyal to the Empire, but only just. The balance of our control has always been fragile. We’re aware that some members of their leadership have dealings with the tribes on occasion. But what could the tribes want with such a hoard of raw materials?"

"Perhaps they don’t." Essek mutters, deep in thought. "Perhaps that’s just a decoy designed to distract from something else."

"Of course..." Caleb huffs a quiet laugh, smiling warmly at Essek. "I think you may have it old friend." The way the drow's eyes light up momentarily at the term of endearment makes Caleb's chest lurch with regret that they can’t go back to the way things used to be. To when they first met. It wasn’t exactly simple back then, there was espionage and secrets on both sides enough to muddy the waters between friend and foe, but that was nothing compared to now. Each running a network of assassins and spies, in a constant war against each other for information and intelligence, the safety of nations riding heavy on each of their backs. Those perfect lavender lips, how he wishes he could kiss them, just once...

He realises he’s staring, but Essek is staring straight back, not saying a word. _Is he thinking about kissing me too, or about killing me?_ Caleb wonders to himself. He takes a breath and averts his eyes, and the moment is gone. Another brief dream swept away by duty.

“There are a number of sites of archaeological importance in north-western Xhorhas, are there not? Sites rumoured to be rich in pre-calamity artefacts.” Caleb asks nonchalantly, sitting on the desk’s edge to put on his trousers.

“If such sites did exist,” Essek answers dryly, crossing his arms, “they would be heavily guarded.”

“And lets say, hypothetically, you were amassing forces just to the south of those sites. Forces large enough to challenge the Empire in another border war. Would they still be as heavily guarded, or would they be seen as a lesser priority given the circumstances?”

Essek’s wariness falters. “They... would.”

“As would similar sites just within the Empire’s own borders, were such sites to exist. Making it easier for an organised third party to run riot and remove whatever they could in the meantime.”

Essek sighs, nodding. “Just as they did the last time our two nations were at war. And a very lucrative business it was for them too.”

“Only this time, they’ve obviously grown impatient with the lasting peace and seek to drive us into conflict again. Thousands dead, all for money.” Caleb grits his teeth sourly, snatching up his jacket and giving it a harsh shake to knock out the few creases that have gathered in the material.

“Rarely is there a genuine reason for war Caleb. Whether it be for power, riches, pride... well, you know my feelings there well enough.” Essek grimaces. Caleb smiles in sympathy, he can practically feel the guilt that plagues the drow, an always present aura that hasn’t really left him since his scheming with the beacons was uncovered by the Nein years ago.

"Will that be enough to convince your superiors that attacking the Garrisons is unnecessary?" Caleb asks, gathering up Essek's mantel from his chair and holding it to help him into the ornate garment.

"It should. Despite the current flare in tensions, the Bright Queen has little appetite for war. For now at least." Caleb watches as Essek's practiced fingers fasten the silver catches holding the mantel in place, before moving to the door to show him out.

"Then it has been a pleasure as always Shadowhand. I will send agents to infiltrate the tribes and keep a close eye on their activities, lest they make another attempt at inciting conflict now that this one has been diverted."

"As will I of course." Essek gathers up his cloak, tucking it over his arm as he walks to the door. "And Caleb..."

"Yes?" Caleb answers with a slight frown as Essek leans in closer, eyes focussed, if Caleb isn’t very much mistaken, on his lips. He swallows hard, heart beat picking up as the tip of Essek's nose brushes his own. It’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong, they never kiss and it’s foolish to allow this...

He feels the cold bite of sharp steel against the side of his throat and tenses. Essek moves back enough to grin at him admonishingly, one delicate white eyebrow raised.

"Don’t go soft on me. Carelessness will get you killed in this business." Pulling the blade away he tosses it onto the desk with a clatter. Caleb's own letter opener, he notes embarrassedly, feeling his cheeks heat.

Essek activates his hover and his disguise with a graceful few flicks of his fingers and opens the door, appearing in his garishly disguised form to stride through without so much as a look back. Closing the door behind the drow, Caleb clenches his fists and gives himself a shake, cross with himself for allowing such a slip.

"Smug bastard..." he mutters to himself, sitting back at his desk to get to work on the whole new stack of paperwork this meeting has necessitated. And, as ever, eager for the next time their paths will cross.


End file.
